The Devil's Quill

silver thread

Hannah Zhang, Poetry Contributor

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a caterpillar inches along my windowsill.

thunder murmurs in the distance,

excited by the pattering of gray rain.

he is small and brown,

with lint stuck to his belly,

and it looks as if half of him is gone,

limping along the rotting wood.

i say, “i am just like you.

i am useless, helpless,

ugly and dirty.

i want to sleep and never wake.”

and he looks at me

and says, “yes, you are just like me.

you are tired now,

and agony stroked you in the palm of its hand.

but one day

both you and i will spin silver thread,

and we will fly.”

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silver thread